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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610374">take care of me.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_elodywixle/pseuds/m_elodywixle'>m_elodywixle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>IT Oneshots :D 💞 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Georgie Denbrough, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Missing Persons, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Friendship, Sad with a Happy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:36:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_elodywixle/pseuds/m_elodywixle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I w-w-want Juh-Juh-Georgie b-back." </p><p>"Why?" </p><p>"Buh-buh-buh-because ev-ev-everything is dif-different n-now." </p><p>— </p><p>In which Stanley Uris visits Bill Denbrough after the fight and sees him having a panic attack. </p><p>—<br/>unedited, no beta lmfao</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough &amp; Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>IT Oneshots :D 💞 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take care of me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>please read tags!! this could be triggering but it really isn't that detailed. I love bill so much but 😔😔 I had to do this for my brain's sake.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world was spinning so quickly, too quickly. It felt as though the world was malfunctioning. He stood there. Trying to breathe but he couldn't seem to manage. The boy's stomach churned and clenched. Am I sick? His breathing was stuttering like his words and his fingers were picking at the skin on the tip of his finger. He managed to find the courage to open his eyes. Instantly regretting that decision as the world blurred and merged into each other. </p><p> </p><p>He slid down the wall, he tried to breathe, but he couldn't. He couldn't breathe and that scared him. <em>Why can't I breathe? Please. I want to breathe. Please. This is why no one likes me. Because I can't even breathe right. I don't have asthma. What's happening to me?</em> He wanted someone to just care for him in the way that he could really feel it. Sure, he had the Losers but they just argued. Now, he had no one. </p><p>
  <em>I want Georgie back. I want Georgie back. Maybe then everything can go back. Everything can go back to normal. My parents will be happy, instead of having a worthless, useless bitch, they'll have the happy and outgoing and naïve brother of his. </em>
</p><p>"Bill?" a voice from the dark asked. "Bill" flinched away and just nodded his head whilst trying to breathe and breathe. Bill felt like he could throw up but he couldn't gag anything up. He wasn't sick. He had made that decision a few minutes ago. Then what was happening. </p><p>A ghost of a hand was rubbing his back. He could feel it there but it was distant. As if it wasn't there but comforting. </p><p>"Hey, hey, come on, breathe with me," Bill heard next to him as well as loud breathing that was slow and calm. </p><p>Bill tried to replicate the slow and calming and steady breaths of the person next to him. He couldn't. He tried. He couldn't, as if the airways were closing up. Maybe he was dying. He wasn't sick, but he was dying. He felt like he could faint and pass out and just die on the spot. </p><p>The steady breaths next to him were patient. They were inviting and comfortable. Bill tried again. This time his thoughts seemed to slow down and he felt as though his airways were given some sort of space. A space that felt so great and comforting. </p><p>He wasn't dying, he concluded. He was just having some strange overwhelming sensation that sent him to the edge of the cliff in his head, the cliff he so wanted to jump off sometimes. The image of himself on the edge of the cliff was vibrant and clear. He could almost feel himself stepping away from the edge and into the comfort of maybe his friends' arms.  </p><p>The world wasn't spinning five hundred miles an hour anymore. The merging of every object in the room seemed to go back into place. </p><p>Calm. He was calm. He felt the comforting hand that was rubbing his back. The buttons of the button up he had squished his cheek into at some moment during the whole fiasco. Tears that were still streaming down his face seemed to dry slowly, and every time he tried to move his facial muscles he could feel the uncomfortable dried tears on his face. The urge to splash his face with cloud water seemed to push more than it had before. </p><p>"Bill. Do you want to wash your face?" The voice asked, this time was the distant voice of Stanley Uris, the button up making more sense as he heard the voice ask again, "do you want to talk about it?" </p><p>Bill shook his head and just whispered, "L-l-later." He felt weak and cowardly, but he also felt the warmth he had ached for. The warmth that was filling his muscles with a spell to just relax. He was the leader, but he felt good, he felt comfortable and relaxed. He felt like he could breathe and the stress of maybe getting his brother back had just lifted. </p><p>The hand of Stanley's had gripped his shoulders and arms to pull them both up. The four feet made soft footsteps across the creaky floorboards of the room and then suddenly there was a bright light. Bill could tell that he was in the bathroom. The cold sink was pressed up to his skin. It was nice. A contrast from the warmth he had felt before, but a cold that reminded him that he was okay. </p><p>Cold water made its way to Bill's soft skin on his face. He could feel it almost drip down his neck when a rough and old towel was pressing into his skin. There was so rough dragging of the towel, just a reminder that he was allowed to be taken care of too. </p><p>There was no water on his face now, but he could see the objects in the room clearly, including the curly, noodle-like hair that planted onto Stanley's head in an unruly yet pressed neatly fashion. </p>
<hr/><p>The soft, fluffed up pillow was being squished by both of their heads at that respective moment of time. They were content. But the question has to come up again. And that was now. </p><p>"What happened, Bill?" The soft voice of Stanley's was like honey in his ear. </p><p>Bill sighed. Unable to comprehend how to start this conversation. </p><p>"I um. I g-g-guess it w-w-w-was m-m-m-my puh-puh-parents. The-they t-told m-me th-that m-m-my s-st-st-stutter w-wuh-was a-a-annoying. They a-always li-liked Juh-Juh-Georgie b-b-better. I w-w-want Juh-Juh-Georgie b-back." </p><p>"Why?" </p><p>"Buh-buh-buh-because ev-ev-everything is dif-different n-now." </p><p>"How different? I'm proud of you for getting this far, just tell me when you're ready." </p><p>"Um," Bill started before breaking out into heart clenching sobs that broke the curly haired boy's heart into pieces. This was the first time after Georgie's death that he had sounded <em>so</em> broken. </p><p>"Muh-my puh-puh-parents fuh-fuh-forgot," Bill sucked a deep breath in, a soft hand made its way to Bill's auburn hair, which made Bill relax into the tough. "T-they duh-don't k-k-know I exist. T-they're guh-guh-grieving, buh-but it h-h-hurts." </p><p>"Bill, look at me," a finger under Bill's chin made him look up to the soft brown eyes that were owned by the Jewish boy, "it's not an excuse. You're grieving too. They might be grieving but they're neglecting you, forgetting to care for you. It's not an excuse for their behaviour." </p><p>The thumbs of Stanley's wiped his tears from his cheek away. </p><p>Bill had nuzzled into his touch. <em>It is not an excuse for their behaviour. It's not an excuse. It's not an excuse. You don't deserve to be treated like that. You deserve the warmth and the cold of life. But you deserve the caring arms, fingers, palms, eyes of them too. Of anyone. </em></p><p>"I love you." </p><p>"I-I luh-love you too," ironic that now Stanley was stuttering his words, but he was never too good with affection and these words hurt like a butt cheek on a stick. But with just them, it was okay. </p><p>
  <em>it's okay</em>
</p><p>Until the phone rang. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you can please kudos and comment some feedback if you have any. I would really appreciate it. Thank you for reading this mess.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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